


kill me like you used to (love me like you never did)

by rudelove



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Assassins & Hitmen, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-06 11:18:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16386845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudelove/pseuds/rudelove
Summary: It's the best relationship Seokmin has ever been in. Too bad it isn't real.





	kill me like you used to (love me like you never did)

**Author's Note:**

> (loosely) based off the tv show killing eve & lorde's sober; 
> 
> huge thanks to the mods for organizing this amazing event and actually getting me excited about writing again. you are the best ♡
> 
> this is probably going to be awful, since i haven't written anything in over a year yikes. all of my knowledge about paris and how undercover missions work comes from google and various movies/tv shows. other tags will be added as i update this, which will hopefully be as soon as possible. 
> 
> p.s. if anyone is interested, [here's](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1KAbotV1meaPHn2fQIMkQs) a playlist of the songs i listened to the most while writing this.
> 
> p.p.s. jaehyun sweetie i am so sorry x___x

It starts as an accident.

It’s already lunch time when Seokmin walks out of the library, balancing his now cold cup of take-out coffee in one hand and a stack of books that weigh more than him in the other, trying his best to go down the stairs without tripping on his own feet. It’s been a long day. Between working on his paper for his Modern art in Paris class and catching up with the rest of his workload, Seokmin easily lost track of time.

He’s tired and hungry, hasn’t eaten anything since this morning before he came to the library, and he’s debating between grabbing some take-out on the walk back to his apartment and making some ramen, when he ends up tripping over the last step and bumping into a complete stranger that was unfortunate enough to cross paths with him today.

Both of them are on the ground now along with the books, and what little was left of his coffee is splashed all over the front of the stranger’s white shirt. Seokmin sits there for a moment or two, frozen at the spot as his brain tries to catch up with what just happened.

“Oh my god, I am _so_ sorry,” Seokmin says in English. While his French is very good, attempting to converse in it always leaves him feeling foolish and inadequate. “Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” 

“ _Fuck_ ”, Seokmin hears the stranger mutter under his breath as he examines himself. “I’m fine. You should be more careful, though.” 

He sounds annoyed, which is to be expected, but not angry like he’s about to start telling Seokmin off, which is a huge relief. 

“I’m really sorry,” Seokmin apologizes again, stealing a secretive glance at the stranger before starting to grab his belongings that are strewn all around him. The guy is Asian, probably around Seokmin’s age with black hair that’s long enough to fall over his eyes, attractive. “I’m really clumsy. I wasn’t watching where I was going and tripped. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” He says, softer this time around. He gets up first, taking some of Seokmin’s books off the ground before extending a hand to Seokmin, helping him get back on his feet with a huff. “Luckily the coffee wasn’t hot, so no one got hurt.” 

Seokmin thanks him, wiping the dirt off his clothes before taking his books back, clutching them tightly against his chest lest he drops them again and gets in trouble with the scary librarian when he comes to return them tomorrow. 

Both of them are silent for a moment. Seokmin stands there awkwardly as the stranger not-so-subtly checks him out, smiling a little as if amused. It makes Seokmin feel a little self-conscious of the way he looks today, wearing an oversized sweater and ripped jeans, hair messy and in a desperate need of a wash. He honestly can’t even remember if he brushed it this morning. 

Meanwhile, the stranger is well dressed, wearing a shirt with the Gucci logo emblazoned at the front that’s been tucked into a pair of pressed black slacks, and a cream-colored trench coat that goes down to his knees. He’s about the same height as Seokmin, but if Seokmin attempted to wear the same outfit he would look absolutely ridiculous, like a child messing around in their parents’ clothes. This guy pulls it off so effortlessly, exuding poise and confidence in a way that almost makes him look intimidating and unapproachable. Seokmin gulps nervously. 

“I’m sorry about your shirt.” Seokmin winces. He might not know a lot (or anything, really) about fashion, but he’s been friends with Mingyu for far too long to be able to recognize the real deal from a cheap knock off bought from a street vendor. “I’ll pay for the dry cleaning bill.” 

The guy simply waves him off nonchalantly. “No need to worry. This shirt is already last season, anyway.” 

“Still. I would like to make it up to you somehow — if that’s okay with you of course.” Seokmin worries at his lower lip. “Coffee, maybe?” 

He takes a moment to consider Seokmin’s offer, glancing down at the expensive-looking watch on his left wrist, lips pursed in thought as if calculating the time.  

“I promise I won’t spill it all over you again.” Seokmin is quick to reassure him, smiling sheepishly. 

“Sure.” The guy decides. “There’s a nice little bistro right down the street.” 

“That sounds good.” Seokmin grins. 

The guy smiles, pausing as he stretches out his hand again, except this time it’s accompanied by an introduction. “I’m Minghao, by the way.” 

Seokmin shakes his hand, smiling sheepishly as he introduces himself, as well. “I’m Jaehyun. It’s nice to meet you, Minghao.”

There are a lot of things worth mentioning here. Like the fact that Seokmin’s name isn’t actually Jaehyun, and even though he’s officially enrolled in the Master’s programme at the Paris School of Arts and Culture, he is in fact an undercover MI6 agent stationed in Paris on a mission to catch the hired assassin Seokmin’s team has been chasing for the better part of a year; one they suspect to be none other than Minghao himself — or whatever his real name might be. 

This whole meet cute was staged, as well. Seokmin stood by the entrance of the library for about an hour as he waited for Minghao to walk by. From the intelligence they could gather, Minghao works as a freelance photographer for various fashion magazines, among other things. He has his own studio that’s just a block away from the library Jaehyun is supposed to frequent, so even in a different scenario where both of them are really who they claim to be, they were probably going to cross paths eventually. 

It’s part of Seokmin’s job to befriend Minghao and get close to him. He has to be charming and believable enough in order to gain Minghao’s trust, find out as much as he can about him and use it to his advantage. Anything that will get the job done. 

After a brief walk, they reach the bistro Minghao had mentioned. They’ve been making small talk on their way over, talking in Korean because Minghao insisted on it. “I studied in Seoul for a year during college,” Minghao had explained, stumbling a little over some of his words. “This would be a great opportunity for me to brush up on my Korean.”

They end up settling down at a table in the corner by the window, both of them ordering lattes. 

“Are you a student?” Minghao nods towards Seokmin’s books that are stacked upon one another on the empty chair between them. “Or just really interested in art?” 

“Master's,” Seokmin smiles. “What better place to learn about art than here?” 

“Have you been here long?” Minghao asks. The chain of the cross earring he’s wearing dangles as he leans closer, propping an elbow on the table and resting his chin on his open palm. 

“A few weeks.” Seokmin says, brows furrowing as he tries to do the math in his head. “Almost a month, actually. Had to come in early to get settled in and everything. What about you? What do you do?” 

“I’ve been here too long,” Minghao says with a mysterious smile. “I’m a painter in my spare time, but I mostly work as a photographer for fashion magazines.” 

Seokmin hums contemplatively, eyes narrowed as he assesses Minghao. “Let me guess… abstract art?” 

“Mostly, yeah.” Minghao says, obviously impressed by his guess. Seokmin wouldn’t call it a guess as much as thorough research his task force has made, all of it written down in the file about Minghao he was given to learn before coming here. 

“I would love to see your work sometime.” Seokmin says. He doesn’t mean for it to come out as flirty as it did, but Minghao doesn’t seem to mind it too much, because he leans in closer and says: “That could be arranged.” 

Talking to Minghao turns out to be easier than Seokmin thought it would be. The people they are pretending to be have a few things in common, and what was supposed to be a quick coffee date to make it up to Minghao turns into a late lunch/early dinner, followed by a walk through a nearby park that’s on the way to the apartment Seokmin is renting out. 

Minghao doesn’t share too much about his personal life. Most of their conversations revolve around Paris, art and books and music, Minghao’s work and Seokmin’s studies. He tells Seokmin he was born and raised in China for most of his childhood, that he moved around the world a lot because of his father’s work; that he decided to move to Paris almost two years ago after falling in love with the place on a cheesy self-discovery trip. But he never lingers on the details. 

“You didn’t have to walk me all the way home,” Seokmin says as they stand outside the entrance of the building, holding his books securely against his chest. 

“I had to make sure you wouldn’t get in more trouble,” Minghao teases him, hip cocked against the old steel door. “I actually live nearby. It’s kind of on my way home, actually.” 

“Really?” Seokmin asks, pretending to be surprised. “Maybe you can show me around the area sometime? I still haven’t had a chance to explore it properly.” 

“I’d like that.” Minghao smiles, soft and genuine. 

He fumbles around his pockets for his phone, unlocking it before handing it over to Seokmin so he could write down his number. Seokmin does, saving it under _clumsy idiot_ and gives himself a quick ring so he could save Minghao’s number, as well. 

“Text me when you’re free so we can hang out,” Minghao says, backing away from Seokmin. “It was nice bumping into you, Jaehyun.” 

Seokmin smiles. “It was nice bumping into you, too.”

 

 

Seokmin sends a report to his handler via an encrypted e-mail that night, writing down everything Minghao told him during the hours they ended up spending together, no matter how small or insignificant it may be. What he doesn’t write, however, is that he actually had a really nice time with Minghao. Seokmin stuck to his cover story the entire time but he didn’t have to pretend to enjoy being in Minghao’s presence at all, something which Seokmin hopes is going to make his job befriending Minghao that much easier. 

He takes a shower afterwards, and feeling drained by his long day he decides to forgo his evening run and goes straight to bed, falling asleep almost immediately.  
  


 

(The first time Seokmin hears of the man they suspect Minghao of being is in January, but it isn’t until mid-February when he joins the task force and becomes an active part of the investigation. 

With five known hits in the span of ten months (all high profile; all important people with a long list of enemies), it makes the person they’d named The 8 one of their topmost priority cases. The profile they have on him is slim: Male, probably in his mid-to-late twenties, highly skillful and intelligent, he’s able to enter and exit heavily guarded premises without being seen nor heard; never leaves any evidence behind, either. 

With no known name or aliases, country of origin or accomplices, their investigation comes to a dead end after the third known kill. They go over every single detail of the previous cases for two months straight, until the crime scene photos are burned into Seokmin’s retinas and he can recite the dates of each and every hit in his sleep. 

On the second Monday in March, Seokmin receives a call in the middle of the night and is told to come into the office _immediately_. An overly caffeinated Junhui and a sleepy Jihoon greet Seokmin when he arrives at the SIS building, with the others following suit shortly after. 

“There was another hit in Bulgaria this morning,” Jihoon explains to the team. “We just got the call.” 

A twenty-year-old hacker well known on certain conspiracy forums on the dark web by the name _Kalin1398_ was found lying in a pool of his own blood in his childhood bedroom. 

The translated report from local police says the victim’s room was trashed and the contents of his computer’s hard disk erased. The killer was able to walk in and out of the front door of his house in broad daylight without anyone noticing him. The medical examiner’s report states there were signs of struggle on the body but the cause of death was a stab to his femoral artery, matching their killer’s m.o. to a T. The poor kid bled out in under two minutes. 

They get to work right away. It takes Junhui and Vernon four days to finish recovering data from the victim’s hard drive. It isn’t much, but it’s enough to get them started. It takes them four more to find out the victim had been threatening to expose incriminating documents of several Fortune 500 companies, undoubtedly what got him killed in the end. 

“This matches our theory that our assassin is working for an organization.” Jihoon says after hearing the developments in the case. 

There are rumors about an organization comprised of some of the wealthiest people in the world that hires assassins (like The 8) to do their dirty work for them and get rid of any inconveniences that happen to come their way. But that’s the problem — they are nothing but rumors, and no one knows who those people might be or how to get to them. 

“Probably, yeah,” Soonyoung says through a mouthful of food, swallowing before he continues, “But how do we even begin to track them down? Or him, for that matter?” 

They get the answer to Soonyoung’s question only a couple of weeks later when Junhui notices something suspicious on the security footage from an ATM a little down the road from the victim’s house. “I decided to give the footage one more try, just in case we happened to miss something, and I think we did,” he explains, fast forwarding the footage as he explains, “I think I found our guy.” 

He clicks on the pause button when a tall, dark-haired young man wearing a long trench coat appears on the screen. “Him?” Wonwoo snorts, obviously unimpressed. “What’s so special about him?” 

Junhui smiles smugly as he opens a folder he’d named _creepy trench coat guy_. “This,” He says as he opens the first image to show them a man of a similar height and built wearing a similar trench coat as the man from earlier. “It was taken from a traffic cam from outside the building where our first victim was found.” Scrolling over to the next image, there he is again: same guy, same clothes, exiting a hotel. “From the hotel’s security footage where the fourth victim was found.” 

It takes a while for them to react, the sound of Junhui tapping his fingers along the desk in anticipation the only sound in the office.

“Holy fucking shit,” Vernon says slowly, the first one to break the silence. “This can’t be a coincidence.” 

“No way,” Jihoon says, still astonished by Junhui’s discovery. “This is London, Minsk and Plovdiv we’re talking about here. This isn’t a wrong place at the wrong time kind of situation. This is our guy.” 

Using image enhancement programs, Vernon manages to get them a clear photo of the guy, running it through a facial recognition software. The process takes some time, but in the end they get a match: Xu Minghao, twenty-eight, Chinese, currently residing in Paris, France. He virtually didn’t exist until July of last year, about two months before The 8’s first confirmed hit. 

Then in July, almost a year to the day of the first time Xu Minghao appeared on the map, Seokmin gets called into Seungcheol’s office and is told he would be going on an undercover mission in Paris. Seokmin simply nods firmly, awaiting further instructions. 

It’s not that Seokmin is the most qualified person on the task force for the job. Soonyoung (who in Seokmin’s opinion is their best choice) could do a much better job than Seokmin if he didn’t recently return from a five month op in Chicago; and Wonwoo (their second best option) is still recovering from the injuries he sustained during his last undercover mission and won’t be taken off desk duty for another six months. The rest either lack the proper training or aren’t experienced enough to pull it off. 

Which leaves Seokmin as the only man for the job. 

That same night, over drinks: 

“And besides. Out of everyone in this room, you look like his type the most.” Seungkwan says. 

“His type?” Seokmin asks, confused. 

“You have a certain... _je ne sais quoi_ ,” Mingyu adds, completely butchering the pronunciation. His French has always been shit. Just one more reason they’re sending Seokmin instead of him. 

“What our dear idiot friend here is trying to say,” Wonwoo says with a laugh, “is that you kinda look like a twink.” 

Mingyu whines in protest and Soonyoung starts laughing so hard he ends up spilling his beer all over Seokmin’s coffee table. Suddenly, Seokmin is glad to be leaving London for a few months if it means he won’t have to be surrounded by these people he once used to call his friends. 

“Me?” Seokmin points at himself incredulously, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “I’m twenty-eight. I can’t be a twink.” 

“You’re twenty-three.” Seungkwan points out, reminding Seokmin of his cover identity. He’s going to be Jung Jaehyun, an Art History student working on getting his Master’s degree; young, inconspicuous and innocent enough to get Minghao to buy into his whole act. 

A month later and Seokmin packs his shit one suitcase and boards a plane to Paris, putting his personal life on hold to search for evidence that will prove Xu Minghao is their killer.)

 

 

They start texting that same night, go out for a late dinner at a Korean restaurant two days later once Minghao has left work. Seokmin is just about to take his keys out of his pocket and unlock the door to his apartment when his phone vibrates from the incoming call. 

“I’m in the mood for some Korean barbecue,” Minghao explains, “Wanna come?” 

“Dude, you don’t even have to ask.” Seokmin laughs, phone wedged between his ear and shoulder as he unlocks his front door and steps inside. “What time?” 

“Are you free now?” Minghao asks, the sound of his voice almost drowned by what appears to be street traffic. He must be on his way to the restaurant as they speak. 

“Yeah, I just got home but I can come right away.” Seokmin walks over to the living room and sets his messenger bag on the coffee table before going to the bathroom to freshen up and take his contact lenses out, deciding to wear his glasses to give his eyes some rest. 

“Great! I’ll text you the address. It’s like, a ten minute walk away from your place, but call me if you get lost and I’ll come get you.” Minghao says, sounding a little out of breath. 

“Sure,” Seokmin says. “See you in ten minutes.” 

The first thing Minghao does when he sees Seokmin enter the restaurant is get up and give him a quick, one-armed hug, patting on the back. The second: “I didn’t know you wore glasses.” He says, then winces awkwardly, as if realizing there’s no reason he’d know that, seeing how they’d only met two days ago. “Well, they look good on you. They make you look very handsome.” 

Seokmin laughs it off, taking his seat at the table. “Thank you. I prefer contacts, but it’s been a long day.” 

“Tell me about it,” Minghao groans, “That’s why I was in the mood for going out. I seriously need to unwind after the day I’ve had.” 

He tells Seokmin all about it, complaining about the photoshoot he did for the next month’s issues of _Dazed_ ; how the model was two hours late and showed up hungover from the previous night and high on coke.

“Was it someone famous?” Seokmin wiggles his eyebrows playfully. 

“Some Insta-famous nepotism child,” Minghao waves it off, “I honestly couldn’t care less.” 

Seokmin laughs, orders them another round of beer. The conversation flows effortlessly after that, like they’ve known each other all their lives. Minghao is nice and smart, very attentive and kind — the opposite of who Seokmin suspects him to be. 

They talk about art again, about the places Seokmin has had the chance to visit (mostly museums and cathedrals he went to with Joshua and Yuna, the only other Koreans in his course beside him and the only friends he’s made so far), about Seokmin’s uneventful day. 

There are moments when Seokmin can’t tell whether Minghao is flirting with him or just being friendly. Maybe it’s the heat from the grill, the alcohol — or both — but there’s something about the way Minghao looks at him the entire time, when he calls Seokmin cute after he misses his mouth and spills soju all over his lap. 

Or, when he asks Seokmin if he’s seeing anyone. 

“No, not at the moment.” Seokmin says. 

“Do you have anyone home that’s waiting for you to come back?” Minghao asks, resting his chin on his hand, looking at him curiously. “A girlfriend—” he pauses, speaks carefully before finishing his thought, “—or a boyfriend, maybe?” 

Seokmin can’t help but laugh. “Nope, no one.” He takes a swig from his beer, sets the glass down on the table. “What about you?” 

“Same.” Minghao replies simply. He appears to be happy with Seokmin’s answer. “I like to have... fun from time to time, but nothing serious.” 

“Casual one-night stands or...?” Seokmin asks with a tilt of his head. 

It’s a fact. Minghao likes to go out and he never leaves a party on his own; never invites anyone over to his apartment, either. It was in the file Seokmin’s task force had managed to put together — one of the reasons Seokmin was picked for the job was because he seemed to be Minghao’s type the most, which makes Seokmin even more suspicious of Minghao's intentions.

Minghao’s entire face flushes at that, sputtering unintelligibly. He doesn’t seem offended by it, just surprised by how brazen Seokmin was. “I’m not judging!” Seokmin adds quickly, raising his arms up in defense. “We’re young. I’d be lying if I said I don’t do it too sometimes.” Not entirely a lie, but that’s besides the point. 

“ _But_ ,” Minghao starts after a beat of silence, smiling to himself, “when I do find someone I feel like I could connect with, I like to take it slow. It’s one or the other.” He finishes the rest of his beer, but his eyes never leave Seokmin’s; dark and a little glazed over, intense like he’s trying to bore into Seokmin’s soul. 

 _It’s the drinks_ , Seokmin tells himself when he feels a familiar spark of arousal light up in his belly; the drinks and nothing more, vowing to himself to drink less the next time he finds himself in Minghao’s presence.   

“This was just what I needed tonight,” Minghao says once they step outside. “Thank you for keeping me company.” 

He cards his fingers through his hair to mess it up, letting out a long sigh as he lifts his arms over his head, stretching out elegantly like a cat. It makes his shirt ride up, exposing a strip of skin and a blur of black next to his left hip bone that disappears as quickly as it appeared. 

Seokmin blinks twice, can’t help but stare. Minghao notices it almost immediately but he doesn’t seem to be uncomfortable by it. In fact, he steps closer to Seokmin and lifts his shirt again, this time on purpose, revealing a simple black tattoo of a single rose. Before he could stop himself, Seokmin reaches out to touch it, gently sliding his index finger over it, feeling the softness of Minghao’s skin under his fingertip. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly once he realizes what he’s doing, feeling foolish. 

“You don’t have to apologize. I don’t mind.” Minghao chuckles softly. 

“It’s pretty.” Seokmin breathes out, making a mental note to include this in today’s report (while omitting this whole touching part, of course). “Did it hurt?” 

“Nah,” Minghao laughs, lifting his left sleeve all the way up to his elbow, “This one, however…” He trails off, nodding at the simple cosmos tattoo near the inside of his elbow: Saturn, a crescent moon and a little rocket, all surrounded by stars and Saturn’s moons. 

“I really like this one.” Seokmin says, swiping his thumb over it only after getting Minghao’s permission. “How many do you have?” 

“A bunch,” Minghao hums, shrugging, “It’s kind of hard to stop once you get one.” 

"I bet." Seokmin lifts his head up to find Minghao smiling at him fondly, amused.

They are standing so close now that Seokmin can smell Minghao’s perfume: sweet (honey? Vanilla, maybe?) and floral with a hint of something citrusy. It’s like one of those moments in the movies when the characters are about to kiss and the whole world around them comes to a stop. Seokmin's head begins to swim. His heart betrays him and begins to thud a little faster in anticipation, eyes darting to Minghao’s pink, soft lips. 

Minghao is no longer smiling. The look on his face is unreadable and he opens his mouth as if to say something when a group of drunken girls passes by them, one of them stumbling a little in her high heels that she ends up bumping against Seokmin’s side, making both of them jump apart as if burned.

Minghao quickly takes a step back and wrinkles his nose as he rubs his hand over the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well, uh…” he says dumbly. 

“Yeah, I should, uh, probably get going.” Seokmin clears his throat. 

Minghao nods, backing away slowly, face red. Seokmin can’t even imagine what he looks like himself. “Good night,” Minghao says. Then, hesitant and hopeful: “See you soon?” 

“Yeah!” Seokmin replies too quickly, a bit too enthusiastically. If he wasn’t blushing earlier then he definitely is now. 

“I’ll call you when I’m free to hang out.” Minghao says, giving Seokmin a small wave. “Night.” 

“Night.” Seokmin waves back, watching as Minghao leaves and disappears out of sight. 

God. He’s seriously fucked.

 

 

They don’t see each other for a week after that, but they text and talk over the phone a few times. In the meantime, Seokmin goes about his usual day to day routine as Jaehyun, careful and alert everywhere he goes, waiting until it’s safe for him to go and meet up with his handler in case Minghao happens to be following him. 

If Minghao is really The 8, then he’s smart enough to know better than to trust any random stranger he meets on the street. Following Seokmin around and even breaking into his apartment to make sure he’s who he claims to be would be understandable — something Seokmin might even do himself if he were in Minghao’s shoes. 

He sees what he suspects to be the same red motorbike zooming past him on a few occasions, but it’s always gone before Seokmin could write down the license plate number or take a better look at the person driving it. One night, besides feeling like some is watching him while on his run, he hears what sounds like the shutter of a camera going off as he gets ready, stretching his legs out in front of his building and plugging in his earphones. Acting as if he hadn’t noticed it, Seokmin looks across the narrow street as if contemplating which route to take tonight, but he can’t see anything in the dark. 

On the fifth day, Seokmin decides it’s safe enough to see his handler, jogging over to their rendezvous point in the park. 

Jihoon’s car is already there, parked under a tunnel in the darkest corner of the park, the headlights turned off. He waits for Jihoon to give him the signal that it’s safe to approach him, lingering around a nearby bench like he’s taking a break and just stopping by to drink his water. 

A lighter goes off twice inside of Jihoon’s car, and Seokmin heads over, has barely had the chance to close the door behind him when Jihoon asks if he was being followed. 

“Would it kill you to say hello and ask how I’m doing first?” Seokmin huffs, shaking his head. Jihoon looks like he’s about to tell him off, so he quickly supplies: “I wasn’t followed. I was being careful the entire time.” 

“Good, because he was on your tail a few nights ago,” Jihoon retorts matter-of-factly. 

“I know, that’s why I keep changing my routes every night.” Seokmin reassures him. “Relax, I know what I’m doing.” 

“Good.” Jihoon says. He takes the folder that’s placed on the dashboard and hands it over to Seokmin. “Here’s a copy of your report, surveillance photos of your date and his whereabouts from this week.” 

Seokmin rolls his eyes at Jihoon’s choice of words, but doesn’t bother correcting him. “Any developments on the case?” Seokmin asks as he flips through the pages, ignoring the pictures of himself and Minghao together.

“No.” Jihoon sighs. “He hasn’t done anything besides going to work and running errands. Though, he went out two nights ago.” He reaches out to flip until the end of the folder, taking out pictures of Minghao entering a club on his own and exiting about three hours later hand-in-hand with a tall, handsome man; the same night Seokmin didn’t go on his run and stayed at home binge watching his favorite drama on his laptop instead. “They spent the night together, but from what we could tell it was just a one night stand.” 

The news isn’t shocking. “Well, at least he’s getting some. Good for him.” Seokmin jokes, feeling childishly content when Jihoon ends up rolling his eyes at him. “I’m supposed to go out with him tomorrow. He just texted me before I left.” 

“Did he say what you would be doing?” Jihoon asks. 

“No, he just said he would show me around.” Seokmin shrugs. “We’ll probably get some breakfast, though, because he’s picking me up at 11 in the morning.” 

“You did a very good job on your first _date_ ,” Jihoon says, putting emphasis on that word again. Seokmin can’t tell why, but it irks him a lot. “Make sure you don’t fuck it up tomorrow.” 

Seokmin nods curtly. “Of course. I will do my best.”

 

 

 

It takes Seokmin almost an hour to decide what to wear for his outing with Minghao. Minghao had refused to disclose any information about his plans for the day, so Seokmin needs to put together an outfit that’s going to be both weather appropriate and the perfect combination of fancy and casual.

Minghao is a very fashionable guy; Seokmin doesn’t want to look like a fool next to him and embarrass himself. Impressing Minghao is important. 

He takes almost everything out of the dresser and dumps it on the bed. It’s reminiscent of the time Mingyu took it upon himself to give Seokmin a whole new wardrobe that would match his cover identity right before he left for Paris; when he went shopping and came back carrying dozens of shopping bags that he dumped unceremoniously on Seokmin’s bed. 

“Your style is too basic and none of your clothes fit,” Mingyu had explained, ignoring Seokmin’s whines of protest. “The dude might be a killer but he sure knows how to dress himself. I got you stuff that would impress him, but are still simple enough for your tragic taste.” 

Seokmin had whined in protest, feeling offended by Mingyu’s words. “Why are you such an ass? What do you mean my clothes don’t fit? I just like being comfortable, that’s all.” 

Mingyu had peered at him over the rim of his glasses (which were for cosmetic purposes only!), fixing him with a stare. “You could fit three of you in that shirt you’re wearing right now. You have a nice body. You should show it off more often.” 

The clothes Mingyu picked out for him aren’t that much different from his own clothes back home. The style is more or less the same, but there’s more colors — muted pink, dark greens and reds, mustard yellow and various shades of blue — and the fit and the materials of his new clothes are better than his old ones. 

Eventually, after changing his clothes about fifteen times, he settles on a black knit cardigan which he folds carefully and places in his backpack for when it gets cold, a plain white tee that he tucks in the front ofa pair of grey plaid slacks. He picks out a pair of white sneakers that are brand new to complete the look, feeling happy with the result — simple, clean and presentable, the perfect mix of fancy and casual.

 

 

 

The following morning, Seokmin steps outside of his building to find Minghao dressed in all black and leaning against a bright red, vintage fatboy motorcycle — undoubtedly the same one Seokmin suspected of seeing last week. 

Minghao is scrolling through his phone but looks up when he hears the door being opened and he sees Seokmin stepping out, smiling appreciatively as he gives him a proper once-over. 

It makes Seokmin feel satisfied and not at all flustered whatsoever. _There’s no reason to be_ , he reminds himself. _None of this is real_. 

“You’re late.” Minghao teases, locking his phone and putting it into his pocket. 

“I’m actually—” Seokmin grins, pausing to check at his watch for his time. It’s 10:57. “Three minutes early. And don’t tell me this is yours.” He says, pointing at the bike. 

Minghao simply laughs. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid.” He says, a hint of worry in his voice. 

“No, I’m just pleasantly surprised, is all.” Seokmin says. It’s the truth. That is one nice bike. 

“C’mon then.” Minghao takes the helmets that are hanging off the handlebars and hands one of them over to Seokmin. “But don’t be embarrassed to hold onto me if you _do_ get scared.” 

“This was your plan all along, huh?” Seokmin tsks in mock-disapproval as he straddles the bike behind Minghao, adjusting the strap of his helmet as Minghao does the same. 

“Maybe.” Minghao shrugs, flashing Seokmin a sly grin over his shoulder. 

“So, where are we going today?” Seokmin asks before they’ve taken off. 

“You said you haven’t done any touristy stuff yet, right?” Minghao asks. “I’ve got a bunch of things planned out for you today, starting with breakfast.” 

“So mysterious.” Seokmin laughs. “Then, let’s go already! I’m starving.”

 

 

The first place Minghao takes him to is _Le Select_ , a famous old café in the heart of Montparnasse where famous people like Soutine, Picasso and Hemingway used to come back in the day. Seokmin passes by it almost every day on his way to the library, and he’s always been tempted to sit down for a quick cup of coffee, but the place has always been bustling with people. 

“I’ve always wanted to come here,” Seokmin admits. “Soutine and Picasso used to come here a lot.” 

“I remember you mentioning it last week.” Minghao says. “I thought it would be the best place for breakfast.” 

Minghao places his hand at the small of Seokmin’s back and gently guides him towards a table in the corner on the terrace. Turns out, he’d called ahead and made a reservation, knowing full well the place would be packed with people on a Saturday morning. 

The weather is perfect — warm and sunny, the sky the most wonderful shade of blue. They order an assortment of pastries, and since Seokmin already had a cup of coffee before leaving this morning, he orders freshly squeezed orange juice while Minghao orders an espresso for himself. 

The food is amazing, and so is the ambiance. Despite being surrounded by people and the sounds of street traffic and chatter, it’s easy to forget about all of it and get lost in his conversation with Minghao. There are moments when Seokmin forgets all about his reason for being here with him and has to reprimand himself for allowing himself to get carried away. 

In all honesty, it feels a bit like a date; the fondness in Minghao’s eyes as he listens to Seokmin blab about art, the gentle way he reaches out to brush off the strawberry jam Seokmin accidentally gets on his cheek, how he loosely tangles his legs with Seokmin’s under the table — he even insists on picking up the check at the end.

Seokmin is practically at the edge of his seat the entire time. It’s imperative he knows how Minghao feels about him, whether he’s only interested in him platonically or in pursuing Seokmin romantically. And while Seokmin has no problem with neither of those options, he needs to know before he makes the wrong move and ends up fucking up the entire mission. 

The next place Minghao takes him to is the _Père Lachaise Cemetery_. 

“A bit morbid for a first date, don’t you think?” Seokmin jokes as they stroll past the rows of tombstones, testing the waters carefully. 

Seokmin isn’t usually this forward. He’s never really been good at flirting, even if it’s done jokingly like now. He used to be a rambling idiot when he was younger and it often got him into some very embarrassing situations, some of which haunt him to this very day. The person Jaehyun is supposed to be is very similar to Seokmin during his college years. Fun, outgoing, adventurous — someone Minghao would get along with easily. But Seokmin is older now, seen shit that have made him more jaded, more serious. He’s not as impulsive anymore. He allows himself time to think before speaking, to weigh out the consequences of his actions instead of diving into things head-first.  

Minghao ducks his head low so Seokmin can’t see the smile spreading across his face. “So it’s a date, huh?” 

Seokmin contemplates for a beat. “We’ll see.” He says easily before turning around the corner, following the map Minghao had printed out for them beforehand. “Hmm, I think Édith Piaf’s grave is right down here.” He says, turning around to beckon Minghao to follow after him. 

They go to the typical tourists spots Seokmin hasn’t visited yet where Minghao takes pictures of Seokmin with his camera, making him pose as a typical tourist, like he's holding things in the palm of his hand or leaning against them. They visit the _Montparnasse Tower_ , _The Basilica of the Sacred Heart_ , _Moulin Rouge_ (where Seokmin nearly breaks a hip trying to do the can-can as per Minghao’s instructions), stop to unwind and eat some ice cream on a bench at the _Canal Saint Martin_. 

Seokmin always opts for mint chocolate chip, a flavor he chooses every single time, but the dark chocolate one with candied citrus peel seemed too tempting not to try. It’s delicious. Minghao got himself an ice cream shaped like a blooming rose (apricot and raspberry flavored) that he takes pictures of for so long, it starts to drip down his hand. 

“You’re a mess.” Seokmin giggles as Minghao tries to clean himself up before the melted ice cream could get on his clothes. 

“This is what I get for taking pictures of my food.” Minghao wrinkles his nose childishly, lapping up at the mess with his tongue. His entire face lights up then, blissful as he closes his eyes and moans happily. “This is so good. The best ice cream I’ve ever had.” 

Watching Minghao like this, Seokmin can’t help but wonder if this could be the same person that kills people for a living? 

They visit some more tourist attractions before having lunch in a little bistro where they take the time to unwind from the long day they’ve had. 

“Do you miss home?” Minghao asks him as they wait for the dessert they ordered to arrive. 

Seokmin nods. Home for him means two things: his childhood home in Yongin he hasn’t visited in years, and London where his job and friends are. For Jaehyun, however, home would be Seoul and nothing else, the place he left a little over a month ago. “I do,” he says. “I don’t have a lot of family left, but all of my friends are there. I know I’ll get used to it eventually, but it can get pretty lonely here at times.” 

Minghao nods. “Well… now you have me.” He says, glancing down at his glass of water when his cheeks turn pink, flustered. It’s a nice look on him. Seokmin likes it. 

“Do you miss home?” Seokmin asks. 

“Sometimes,” Minghao sighs, falling silent for a beat too long before continuing. “I miss the idea of it… my childhood days, mostly. The familiar smells of a home cooked meal — things like that.” 

“Was it hard moving here and leaving everything behind?” Seokmin asks. 

Minghao shakes his head. “There wasn’t much holding me back. By the time I came here I’d already spent a couple of years traveling around the world.” He smiles — or attempts to, because it’s a little crooked around the edges, strained. “Paris is my home now. I have great friends and a great job. I’m happy here.” 

The waiter approaches their table, and both of them straighten up as he places down two forks and a plate of with a huge slice of chocolate cake in the middle. They dig in almost immediately, commenting about how amazing the cake is, their previous conversation already forgotten. 

There are only two items left on their agenda for the day. It’s already dark when they step out of the restaurant, the air a little cooler now that the sun has gone down. Seokmin takes the cardigan out of his backpack and puts it on before they head over to their next location. 

Since Seokmin has already visited most of the museums, Minghao had decided they skip all of them, but they still make a stop by the _Louvre_ so he could take a picture of Seokmin pretending to be squashing the large pyramid with his foot. 

Afterwards, they stop at a bridge overlooking the _Eiffel Tower_. “I know you said you’ve already visited it, but this is _the most_ touristy thing to do when in Paris.” Minghao explains, taking his camera out once again. “C’mon, pretend you’re trying to lift it up with your fingers.” 

Seokmin goes along with it, ends up bursting into fits of giggles after an old man who passes them by on his bike curses them out in French and calls them a bunch of idiot tourists; Seokmin’s head thrown back as he laughs uncontrollably while Minghao watches him with a wide smile on his face, something akin to endearment twinkling in his eyes the entire time.   

They take a couple of pictures together with Minghao’s phone before they leave, faces pressed close so both of them could fit in the frame and still get the _Eiffel Tower_ in the back. Overall, it’s the best date Seokmin has ever been on. It felt nice, fooling around like that for the first time in years. 

On the drive back to Seokmin’s apartment, Seokmin wraps his arms around Minghao’s middle and rests his head against Minghao’s back, the city a big blur of lights before his eyes as they drive through it. He feels at peace for the first time since he came here. 

“Thank you for today.” Seokmin says. They are back outside of his building again. Seeing Minghao here this morning feels like a lifetime ago. “I haven’t had this much fun in ages.” 

“It was my pleasure.” Minghao says. He steps closer to Seokmin, his eyes trained on Seokmin’s lips, brows furrowed as if contemplating his next move. 

Seokmin doesn’t move, allowing Minghao to make the decision on his own. He follows Minghao’s lead, waiting with bated breath. Then, taking one step forward, Minghao reaches out to cup Seokmin’s face in his hand and leans in for a kiss. It’s soft and a little tentative, doesn’t last too long. Seokmin’s face begins to burn on its own accord and he wonders if Minghao could feel it under his touch, his stomach giving a little involuntary swoop when their lips touch for the first time. 

“Good night, Jaehyun.” Minghao says before leaving. 

Seokmin snaps out of his daze then, finally getting back to reality. He almost forgets to say goodbye to Minghao before he’s left, disappearing around the first corner, the sound of his motorbike echoing behind him. 

 

 

Later, Minghao sends Seokmin some of the pictures he took that day, a few of which were taken while Seokmin wasn’t paying any attention: replying to Yuna’s text about checking out an exhibition after classes on Monday, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he tried to decide which ice cream flavor to pick, laughing at that bridge with a hand covering his mouth and eyes shut. 

Then: the picture of the two of them, cheeks pressed together as they smile for the camera; Seokmin’s tongue poking out of the corner, Minghao holding out a peace sign with his hands that covers the bottom part of his face; the Eiffel Tower big and blurry and golden behind them in the distance. He downloads the picture on a whim, can’t bring himself to stop staring at it even after the screen goes black and he has to unlock his phone several times. 

(He deletes it in the end, feeling foolish and angry with himself for having saved it in the first place.) 

He decides to write his report to Jihoon in the morning, giving himself some time to clear his head and collect his thoughts. He goes to sleep early that night, dreams of Minghao pushing him off a bridge and looking down at him over the railing as he slowly sinks deeper and deeper into the river, until the current sweeps him along and Minghao’s face is nothing but a ripple in the water.

**Author's Note:**

> a special-shout out to shan for holding my hand through this entire process and always encouraging me to keep writing. this fic wouldn't exist without you tbh and for that i am eternally grateful. i yeehaw you ♡ 
> 
> come find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sseokgyus) & [cc](https://curiouscat.me/sugarshocks) n___n


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